BLACKFELLOW BUNDI 

* z 4 Native Australian Boy 

SJgff EILA and KILROY HARRIS 


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In the morning Bundi woke to the sound of laughter 




BLACKFELLOW BUNDI 

A Native Australian Boy 

By 

LEILA and KILROY HARRIS 



Pictured by 
KURT WIESE 


JUNIOR PRESS BOOKS 

ALBERT^WH itman 
4 co 

CHICAGO 

1939 


We dedicate this book 
To 

Children short and children tall, 

Flat as Jack Sprat or round as a ball, 

To children black and yellow and white, 

Who are sometimes bad, but want to do right. 



Copyright, 1939, by Albert Whitman & Company 
Lithographed in the U.S.A. 

C.’CiA 



135099 




Chapter I 

A HOMESICK LITTLE BOY 


M ANY stars shone. The heat of the day still hovered 
over the Australian plains, but little gusts of cool air 
chased each other among the gray-green saltbush. They 
played between some little gunyahs , or huts, which stood together 
on Booralong cattle station. Into each open doorway went the 
cool air. It roused one little aboriginal boy from his troubled sleep. 

Bundi stretched his black arms upward. The breeze felt good. 
He was used to wind on his naked body. But when he opened 
his eyes, the darkness above seemed strange. No matter how hard 
he tried, he couldn’t see the stars. 

"Clouds,” thought Bundi, "and rain to break the long dry 
spell. Rain to make the grass spring up and the kangaroos return 
to feed.” 


5 



Then through the doorway in the gunyah , Bundi saw the 
stars. The blackness above him was not clouds; it was the roof 
of a strange gunyah. He rushed out from the gunyah as if it were 
a prison and he were about to be locked in. 

Suddenly Bundi remembered why he was not lying out under 
the stars as he had done since babyhood. His mother and father 
had gone to the Spirit Land. They had hungered for kangaroo 
meat and for berries, for any kind of food. 

But there was no food, so they had wasted away with a sick' 
ness, as had his little sisters and brothers and many others of the 
tribe. The magic and the spells of old Mirrabindi, the Medicine 
Man, had not saved them. 

Bundi had come to Booralong, a white man’s cattle station. 
There was always food at Booralong for blackfellows who would 
work for the white man. He had slept in one of the gunyahs that 
clustered around the station. Bundi looked at the strange gunyahs. 
The walls were made of tree branches that had been stuck in 
the ground in a circle and tied together at the top. The whole 
had been covered with old cloth sacks and pieces of tin. 

Bundi wondered why the aboriginals who lived at Booralong 
should need more than a sheet of bark thrown over a pole. They 
were strange blacks, he thought, and had forgotten the ways of 
their own people on the plains. 

Soon Yangella came to get him. Yangella was the big, kindly 
man of Bundi’s own tribe who had brought the little boy to 
the cattle station. Bundi followed Yangella to the fire, where 
the food was cooking. Here Yangella stooped and picked up a 
piece of damper , or bread, from its oven of ashes. He broke off 
two large pieces and brushed the ashes from them as he held them 
out to Bundi. When the boy had bitten into the damper he saw 
that it was white inside and there were no hard seeds. Because 


6 



Bundi followed Yangella to the fire, where the food 
was cooking 



the food was strange, it seemed bad to Bundi, and he wanted to 
spit it out. But too many eyes were watching. 

Bundi thought about the camping places which had been 
home to him. He remembered how his mother had looked with 
the soft glow of the fire shining in her face. A lump rose in his 
throat, as though a chunk of damper were choking him. His 
whole body trembled with wishing that he might be safe around 
his own campfire again. 

When he had finished eating, Yangella took him to a building 
where there were shelves filled with large boxes. It was the station 
store, and one of the white men gave Bundi a little blue shirt and 
a pair of trousers to wear. He thought them a kind of decoration. 
He remembered how the men of his tribe decorated themselves 
for corrobboree , or the native dance, by sticking feathers on their 
bodies and painting themselves with chalkstone. 

Bundi put on the shirt and trousers and danced about happily, 
forgetting for a moment that he was in a strange place. The white 
man laughed and Bundi kept on dancing just to please him. 

“Good fella,” said the white man. 

“Good fella,” said Bundi, over and over again. He had learned 
his first bit of white-man talk. 

As they walked back along the path, Yangella told Bundi 
about the work which the stockmen did—how they rounded up 
the cattle, branded them, drove them to market, and kept the 
fences mended. 

“But that is lubra’s work!” he said to Yangella in their own 
language. In Bundfs tribe, only women did such work; the men 
were all brave hunters. Their only work was to hunt kangaroos 
or to fight enemies. “Do you do lubras work, too, Yangella?” 
he asked. 

“If blackfellow wants to eat, blackfellow must work,” was 


8 


the only answer. For a moment Yangella hung his head as if he 
were ashamed of the work he had to do. Not so long ago he, too, 
had felt as Bundi did. But he had soon learned that the white 
men had different ideas about work from those of his own people. 

As Bundi wandered among the men and children at the cattle 
station, no one noticed that he was a stranger, because now he 
was wearing clothes like all the others. He walked silently 
among the groups, all talking and laughing happily—talking white 
man’s talk which Bundi could not understand. 

As he watched the children racing and playing, he thought 
of the good times that he used to have with his own people. 
He remembered the fun he had had with a boomerang, trying 
to throw it so that it would whirl around and come back to his 
hand. Suddenly a great wave of homesickness came over him. 
He wanted the old friends and the old games. 

"When the rains come, I will c go bush’,” Bundi promised 
himself, "back to my own people. Then I will forget all about 
the cattle station and the white men who do lubra’s work.” To 
"go bush” meant to return to his native wild bush country to live. 






Chapter II 

THE HUNTERS RETURN 

Weeks passed and still the rains did not come. 

Bundi learned more and more whitefellow talk and white- 
fellow work, but all the time he hugged his secret close and it 
comforted him. He did not tell Yangella that he was planning 
to go bush as soon as the rains came, for Yangella would try to 
stop him. And anyway, Bundi now had something else to wait 
for besides the rains. 

The white men had gone on a hunt, and Bundi longed to see 
the excitement when they returned. There would surely be a 
feast and shouting and singing and dancing—a kind of white- 
fellow corrobboree. And the one who thrust the spear that killed 
the kangaroo—how proud he would be. 


10 



The brumby charged right toward the horse and rider 



Day after day Bundi sat on the stockyard fence searching the 
plains for a far sight of the returning men. His eyes were like 
those of an eagle, and one day, far, far in the distance he saw a 
tiny cloud low on the plains. His heart beat fast. He knew that 
this was not the rain cloud for which he had been waiting so 
long. It was a dust cloud. The hunters were coming back to 
Booralong. 

As they came near, Bundi saw two horses without riders, being 
driven along ahead of the group. They were brumbies , wild horses 
of the plains. So the men had not been hunting kangaroos! There 
would be no feast that night! 

As the brumbies dodged, reared, and circled about, the stock- 
men gradually hemmed them in and forced them toward the yards. 
They were glorious red-brown creatures, their heads arched and 
their tails like plumes. Everyone at the cattle station, white and 
black alike, was watching the exciting chase as the hunters neared 
the gateway to the paddock. The brumbies were filled with fear. 
But every time they tried to break away to the open plains, a 
horse and rider blocked the way. 

It would have been easy, thought Bundi, to throw a spear 
and kill a brumby. Forcing them through the gateway was far 
more difficult. Suddenly Bundi gasped, partly with fear for the 
rider and partly with wonder that he could sit his horse so well. 
As one of the horses sidestepped to block a brumby , the brumby 
charged right toward the horse and rider. The horse reared on 
his hind legs as if he would claw the brumby with his front hoofs. 
All the while the stockman sat his horse as if it were gently 
trotting across the plains. 

Bundi was thrilled. His eyes gleamed. “Good! Goodfella 
horse!" he shouted. And rushing into his mind came a new 
wish — to be a stockman some day, to ride a horse, to chase 
brumbies. 


12 


Soon all the brumbies were in the yard and the slip rails were 
again in place. Now the wild horses galloped round and round, 
looking in vain for the opening which might set them free. Bundi 
knew how they felt. He had felt that same way the first night 
he had slept at Booralong. A new longing for freedom and a fear 
of white men and their stations surged into the boy's heart as he 
watched the imprisoned horses. 

When the brumbies were all safely in the stockyard, the station 
men went back to their work. The excitement was over. Bundi 
felt cheated, after his days and days of patient waiting. Always 
in his tribe there had been a real corrobboree when the men came 
back from a kangaroo hunt. But white men were different. All 
their ways were different. 

So Bundi went back to his work. A lubras work it was—this 
job of watering the hundreds of garden plants each day. He was 
still ashamed to do lubras work. But he dared not tell the others 
the shame and ache that was in his heart. He took up the pail 
and walked up and down the long rows, giving each plant a 
little water. 

Very often Bundi looked up from his work to stare at the big 
windmill over by the water tank. He could not understand how 
it pumped the water which came bubbling out of the big iron 
pipe that was sunk in the ground up to the big wooden tank high 
above the ground. And how did the water get into the pipe in 
the garden? To Bundi, it was all a part of white man's magic. 

As he looked at the “big gunyah with wings," which he had 
named it, he spoke to it, using soft aboriginal words which 
flowed as free as the water. “You smart Medicine Man. All 
time make water come on. Blackfellow Medicine Man, Mirra' 
bindi, no can make water come, and Bundi's people die. You 
make water come on for white man. White man have plenty 
food longa garden." 


13 


Today the white man seemed stronger than ever to Bundi. 
He could shut brumbies in when they wanted to run over the 
plains with their kind. He could make blackfellows do lubras 
work. So, because Bundi could not understand, fear stayed in 
his little heart. 







Chapter III 
BUNDI GOES BUSH 

Another week went by and the rains had not yet come. 
Bundi was still at Booralong. He dared not leave, he dared not 
go bush until the rains came. If he went before, he would die 
of thirst out on the plains. 

Then one day a message came from the head stockman saying 
that the first lot of cattle would be in on the Flats the next day. 
What excitement there was at the cattle station. The cattle round¬ 
up on the Flats was the biggest event of the year. 

Bundi wished that he might ride a horse out to the Flats. 
Instead of that, he walked along beside the cook's wagon, which 
he had helped to fill with cabbages, potatoes, and carrots from 
the garden. How the men out on the Flats would enjoy these 
fresh vegetables after eating bread and dried beef for many days. 


15 



Even if he couldn’t ride a horse, it was good to be away from 
the buildings and to see only the open plains again. Bundi picked 
some of the saltbush leaves and pressed them between his fingers. 
How could the cattle live on these leaves through the long dry 
season, he wondered. Bundi wished that he could eat leaves. 
Then he would never have to go back to the cattle station and 
do woman’s work. 

Finally, in the afternoon, they reached the place called Poker 
Flats, which was filled with cattle. Bundi thought that all the 
kangaroos he had ever seen would not make so large a herd. 
Over the far edge of the Flats puffed little clouds of dust, showing 
that more cattle were being driven in. 

Cows were bawling to their calves, and young bulls were 
bellowing in anger at being driven from their pasture lands. 
Young steers were trying to break away from the mob. Stock- 
men on prancing horses were circling the mob and holding it 
on the Flats. 

Bundi wanted to watch the musterers but he had to build the 
fire. Soon the cook was putting cabbage, carrots, onions, potatoes, 
and fresh meat into the huge iron kettle hanging over the flames. 
Then he made strong black tea in a big black “billy can.” Bundi 
waited on the men, who all chattered and laughed as they ate. 

The noisy chatter and laughter of the men went on as they 
came back for two and three helpings of the stew. Only Bundi 
looked gloomy. 

“Hurry up there, boy,” one of the musterers called to Bundi, 
“bring us some tea. You’re as slow as one of these old cows.” 

Bundi hung his head. He was ashamed that he had to serve 
these men the way the lubras served the men of his tribe. When 
the meal was over and Bundi had finished washing up, he went 
up on a rise of land where he could see all that was going on. 


16 


Bundi watched the cattle stirring and dodging about while 
the stockmen rode among them and began cutting out certain 
animals from the mob. And a queer kind of excitement gripped 
him. He had felt this same way when he had watched the men 
of his tribe making ready for a kangaroo hunt. How thrilling 
it would be to ride one of those prancing horses, to be a stockman 
and to bring in cattle instead of kangaroos. 

Bundi's eyes danced as he watched Split, one of the stockmen, 
and his horse Charger. Charger and Split were enjoying the fun. 
Charger shied away from the mob of cattle and pranced on 
tiptoe. He seemed to be frightened—as if he had never been 
in a cattle camp before. But it was all a part of the game. Split 
let Charger rear and sidestep and snort. But when he said, “All 
right, Charger, stop that playing; it's work time now,” the horse 
steadied down and went after a half'grown calf. 

That one was easy. Charger headed it out to a waiting stock' 
man who sent it on to the branding yards. Then Charger was 
back in the mob, ready for Split to show him the next calf to 
be cut out. 

Bundi pretended that he was on Charger and that the horse 
was obeying every pressure of his hands or his heels or his legs. 
When Charger stopped suddenly, bracing his four feet to block 
a red and white calf that did not want to leave its mother, Bundi 
braced his feet too. Then Charger sprang into action, and Bundi 
swung his arms just as Split did when he headed the calf off 
the camp. 

The work went on until sunset. Other stockmen took their 
turns and the work went faster and was more difficult. The 
calves that were cut out first had been easy. They were all in 
the branding yard. But the young steers that were to be sent to 
market were tricky. 


17 



Each stockman cut out two or three, and then rested his 
horse while another stockman took a turn. There was one white 
and brown steer which Bundi thought would never be driven 
out, for he seemed quicker than the horse. Angry and frightened, 
the steer lowered his head to charge. The horse sidestepped just 
in time, whirled like a top, and sent the steer hurrying toward 
the yard. As Bundi watched, he wondered if the steer would keep 
on fighting for freedom, once he was fenced in. 

Suddenly Bundi felt a fear of being shut in on the station, 
just as the steers were shut in by the fences. At first the muster- 
ing had seemed an exciting game; now it seemed a fearful thing. 
Bundi wanted to get away from the white men who could build 
such strong fences and who could make him do woman's work. 
He forgot all about wanting to be a stockman and to ride a horse. 
He wanted to go to his own people. 


18 



Bundi started to run, like a wild little creature that is seeking 
its freedom. He gave no thought to the direction in which he 
fled. He wanted only to get away from the camp and the yards. 
The bush, the plains, the kangaroos, and all his people were calling 
him. Bundi was answering that call and nothing else mattered. 
His wild little heart made music like the thud, thud, of kangaroo 
tails pushing big hopping bodies. 

As he ran, he stripped off his blue shirt and his trousers and 
threw them away. They belonged to the white man and all that 
Bundi was running from. They did not belong with the people 
and things that were calling Bundi. 

The wind on his naked body felt good. He swung his arms, 
glad of freedom from clothes. He wished that he could have let 
down the rails so that the steers could run free too. He imagined 
the steers running with him, their tails straight out behind their 
backs. But the steers were not with Bundi. He was hurrying on 
alone, one little boy on the vast Australian plains. 




Chapter IV 


BUNDI MEETS A SUNDOWNER 


Bundi cut across the open plains, enjoying the swish of tall 
dry grass against his legs. He skirted clumps of saltbush, and 
then without even thinking, began to follow the cattle tracks. 
It was comforting to be running along a cattle trail, a way where 
other live things had gone. 

Bundi was headed for the best possible place to spend the 
night—the Oolong bore. When he saw the big iron pipe standing 
as high above the ground as himself, it startled him. He had 
been keeping his eyes on the tracks. Water was flowing from 
the pipe into a large, basindike tank. 

He knew that Booralong stockmen had sunk the pipe and 
scooped out the earthen tank so that cattle might drink. He was 
thirsty. He lay down on the red sand at the edge of the tank 
and scooped up big handfuls of water which was almost hot. 
Steam rose from the water which was pouring from the pipe. 


20 


The little boy lay quietly for a long time. It was good to be 
still and alone. He almost forgot about his hunger. It seemed 
enough just to know that he was a little bit nearer his own people. 

Then he remembered that many of his people had died be' 
cause they could not find food and water. The rains had not yet 
come, and food and water would be hard to find now. A great 
wave of fear and loneliness swept over him and he started to cry. 
Suddenly he thought, “I never saw my father cry, and I must 
be like my father.” And the thought held back the tears. 

Next morning Bundi wakened to the smell of smoke. Not 
far away was a strange man, baking bread over a campfire. With 
the instinct of a wild creature, Bundi kept perfectly still, watching 
every move of the stranger. The man’s blanket roll lay near, 
showing that he had camped there for the night. And because 
no harm had come to Bundi during the night, he was not afraid. 

He was sure that this man was not from a cattle station, be' 
cause stockmen never wore such ragged clothing. Nor was it 
someone sent to bring him back to Booralong, for white men 
never tried to keep blackfellows when they wanted to go bush. 

There was a sudden hissing, and steam rose from the fire as 
water boiled over from the tin can hanging above the flames. 
Bundi jumped up to take the can off the fire, and at that moment 
the stranger turned and saw him. The man grabbed the can, 
then dropped it quickly. 

“Him hot; him bite hand,” said Bundi, as if he had been 
camping with the man for months. 

“Put that lid on and keep that tea hot,” said the man, still 
shaking his burned hand. 

Bundi obeyed, then stood quietly, not knowing whether to go 
or stay. 

“Sit down,” said the man, as he went on about his camp work. 


21 


He fastened his blanket roll with two straps and then put into 
his tucker or provision bag the little bit of flour, baking powder, 
and salt which were left after making damper. 

Bundi watched in silence, wondering who this man could be. 
His blue eyes looked kind. His face, almost as dark as Bundi’s, 
was wrinkled by the wind and by years of living. 

"You go Booralong?” asked Bundi. 

The man went on with his work as though he had not heard, 
and Bundi did not speak again. The man scraped a few ashes off 
the damper and then, satisfied that it was baking nicely, covered 
it and sat down on the same side of the fire as Bundi. For a few 
minutes the man and the boy watched the thin blue smoke drift¬ 
ing away. Then, still watching the smoke, the man answered 
Bundfs question. 

"Yes, Fm headin’ for Booralong. Have to get the tucker bag 
filled. Is the cook a good sort?” 

Bundi wondered how the man knew that he was from 
Booralong. But he only said, "Cook will give big mob tucker.” 

"Sundowner’s luck! ” said the man, half to himself. 

Bundi remembered hearing the cook grumble about the Sun¬ 
downers. They were the strangers who always arrived at sun¬ 
down, when they knew it was too late to do a bit of work for 
the food they wanted. The men at Booralong didn’t think much 
of Sundowners, but Bundi thought they were the nicest kind of 
white men because they lived much as his own people did. They 
wandered over the plains or through the bush, stopping now and 
then at a station, but never caring about anything except food 
and water and being free. 

Bundi sniffed the air. The damper was burning. The Sun¬ 
downer quickly pulled the loaf from its oven of ash. When it 
had cooled a bit, he handed half of the loaf to Bundi and motioned 


22 



The TYicLU sat dowu ou the same side of the five with Bundi 




him to take a pot of tea. Bundi crammed large hunks of bread 
into his mouth. How hungry he was, and how good the food 
tasted! 

As the Sundowner packed up, he said to Bundi, “The black' 
fellow camp is far away, over in that direction . 11 He pointed to 
the edge of the plains where the sun was making the sky as red 
as the sand they sat on. 

Bundi 1 s heart beat fast with excitement and longing. He must 
hurry toward the camp of his people. 

“Dank you big mob ,’ 1 he said, as he had learned to do at 
Booralong. Then, as though to give something in return, he 
added, “You goodfellow. Cook will give big mob tucker . 11 

In another moment Bundi had started off toward the black' 
fellow's camp, without a single backward look at the man by the 
campfire. He had only his two small hands to help him live alone 
on the plains. But Bundi was not afraid. Was he not the son 
of the bravest man in the tribe? 






Chapter V 


TRACKS IN THE GULLY 

As Bundi walked over the plains he wondered why white men 
needed so much room for their cattle. There was very little land 
left for the blackfellows. The plains belonged to the white men 
now. Perhaps blackfellows would always have to live on cattle 
stations and eat the meat of cattle, when the kangaroos were 
gone. Fear again swept over Bundi, and he hurried on, hoping 
to reach the water hole and camp with his own people that night. 

When dusk was settling over the plains Bundi came to a line 
of gum trees, whose white trunks gleamed softly in the oncoming 
darkness. The trees seemed like familiar friends, and Bundi ran 
to touch them. He pulled off a few strings of brown bark which 
still clung to the white trunks. When the trees shed their bark 
it made him think of a snake shedding its skin*. 


25 



In the dim light Bundi could see that he was on the edge of 
a gully. Down below must be the water hole that the Sundowner 
had told about. Underfoot there was a tangle of coarse grass 
and fallen leaves. Bundi stepped lightly and lovingly. After the 
burning plains, this grass felt like a cool, soft carpet to his bare 
brown feet. He pressed his hot body against the cool white trunk 
of the tree. “This is my home," he thought, “these trees belong 
to blackfellow.” 

As Bundi went farther into the strip of bush that fringed the 
river course, he saw that the leaves were turning yellow. “Plants 
sick too. Rain no come on,” he thought as he hurried toward 
the water hole. 

Bundi was oh, so thirsty and oh, so hungry. Far back on the 
plains he had eaten the last bit of bread that the Sundowner had 
given him. He hurried down the gully, climbing over fallen logs 
and making his way through the tangled grass, looking for the 
water hole which he must find. 

There was no stream. Only a muddy pool lay in the river bed. 
But to Bundi it seemed like a fine little water hole. Any water 
looked very good to the tired, unhappy little boy. Thirsty as he 
was, Bundi did not drink at once. He walked carefully around 
the pool, looking for tracks—blackfellow tracks, kangaroo tracks, 
any kind of tracks that would tell if any living creature had been 
there. But the mud was dry and no tracks could be seen. So 
Bundi lay down beside the pool, scooped up the water in his 
hands, and drank. 

Throughout that long, hot day Bundi had kept trudging on, 
hopeful of finding his people by nightfall. But now, hope was 
gone. His heart was heavy and his legs were heavy, too heavy 
for him to lift. If only he had found some little sign—a footprint 
in the mud or a mark of a coolamon , one of the small, troughdike 


26 



BiATidi scooped up the ivatev iyi his hxiTids, avid dvofilc 






vessels his people used to carry water. Wretched with loneliness 
and disappointment, Bundi lay on the ground and buried his face 
in the dead leaves. If he could only hide from his own sad 
thoughts! 

The sounds of bush creatures settling for the night made the 
little boy more lonely. Each had a place to go, a place he knew, 
a place where he could sleep in safety. Only Bundi was far from 
his own kind. He had no campfire, and he had no fire stick to 
make one. 

In the morning Bundi woke to the sound of laughter, the 
strange wild laughter of the kookaburra. The bird was sitting 
on the limb of a tall gum tree, looking down at a big snake on 
the ground. Bundi had often seen a kookaburra swoop down, 
grab a snake behind the head, carry it up to a high perch, and 
then let it drop. Time after time the bird would do this. Finally 
when the snake lay quiet, the kookaburra would burst out into 
a long, rollicking laugh. 

As the bird’s laugh ran through the bush again, Bundi laughed 
too, and there was joy in his laugh like the joy of a wild creature. 
Surely he would find his people this day! 

Driven by a terrible hunger, the little boy began to dig in the 
soft mud at the edge of the pool. His eyes brightened while his 
hands were still under the muddy water. He was gripping a 
squirming crayfish. 

Bundi wished that he could cook the fish, but he had no fire 
stick. Greedily he tore the flesh apart and began to eat the raw 
meat. Several times his hands dived into the water and brought 
up more food. There would be other pools along the river course, 
where he would find more fish and perhaps footprints, too. So 
with new strength and hope, Bundi hurried along the gully. 

As he walked along he saw a mother koala—a small, beardike 


28 


animal—settling down in the fork of an old gum tree for her day's 
sleep. Her joey or baby clung to her back, with eyes closed but 
with his claws tightly gripping his mother's fur. They had been 
feeding all night on the tenderest gum leaves, and the mother 
had been giving her baby some lessons in climbing along the 
branches. He was such a tiny koala, Bundi thought that he had 
never been out of his mother's warm pouch before. 

As he went farther along the gully, the tree ferns were large 
and sheltering. Soon Bundi came to another small water hole. 
This one had a wider rim of mud along its edges. Bundi knelt 
down and looked carefully for tracks. A sharp footprint near the 
outer edge of the rim of mud caused his heart to beat fast with 
excitement. This mark made by a human being seemed like a 
message from his own people. Soon he found another and am 
other. 

Then Bundi stopped in sudden wonder. These footprints were 
strange to him. Could he have forgotten the tracks that he had 
learned so well? These must have been made by men of another 
tribe, perhaps an enemy tribe. His heart beat faster still, but 
with fear instead of hope. 

Then Bundi noticed that the tracks were far back from the 
edge of the water. They had been made when the mud was soft 
and when there was much more water than now. These were old 
tracks, made many days ago. Perhaps there would be other foot¬ 
prints at the next pool. So he hurried on. 

Night came again, but Bundi had found no more tracks. He 
had stopped his thirst with the muddy water in the pools, and he 
had stopped his hunger with lily roots. Like one of the little 
bush -features, he nestled down for the night among some dead 
leaves in a little hollow. 

The night creatures—the owls, the koalas, the flying foxes— 


29 


were busy with the work of hunting food. The day creatures, 
like Bundi, were seeking rest. Some went by softly on padded 
feet. Bundi smiled as he heard the soft thump, thump of a little 
kangaroo. The twitter of a wren from the low bushes and the 
sleepy call of a bird in a treetop died away. The chattering of the 
flying foxes went on, a natural part of the night life of the bush. 
Because it was natural, Bundi was at peace, and he quickly fell 
asleep. 




Chapter VI 

AT THE RABBITERS CAMP 


For three days Bundi searched for footprints or old campfires, 
but he found none. He found water enough, and also food— 
crayfish, plant roots, and wild honey. Bundi had often watched 
his mother gather roots, so he knew which ones were good. He 
was glad that his father had shown him how to find wild bees’ 
nests in the treetops. Whenever he saw bees coming from a tree, 
he climbed it quickly, plunged his small black hand deep in the 
hole that formed the nest, and pulled it out dripping with golden 
honey. The boy ate greedily, licking his fist as a little bear licks 
its paw. 

At the end of the third day Bundi came upon a little clearing 
near a water hole. The charred sticks and ashes showed that 
some blackfellows had enjoyed a feast there. Bundi could picture 


31 


it all to himself—the lubras taking hot stones from the fire and 
placing them in the bottom of the pit, then putting the kangaroo 
in and covering it with more hot stones and then earth. How he 
longed for kangaroo meat again. How he longed to find his own 
people. 

With the greatest care Bundi searched the ground for foot" 
prints that he knew. But the ground was so dry and the tracks 
were so mixed that he could not tell whether his own people 
had camped there or not. 

For two more days the little boy followed the course of the 
river. Sometimes he climbed to the edge of the gully in order 
to look across the plains. Then back to the stream bed he went 
again. As he walked along, he saw that the trees were smaller 
and the bushes were yellow. The trees were thirsty, too. The 
stream bed, where water had once been, finally lost itself on the 
plains. Ahead, there was nothing but level country with only 
a few shrubs and bushes. 

All hope had gone from Bundi’s heart, just as all water had 
vanished from the bed of the stream that he had been following. 
Perhaps all his people were dead, lost on the dry plains, like 
the stream. Bundi had been so sure that he would find them along 
the water course. But he had not found them. 

Where could he go now? He would find neither food nor 
water on the plains. There would be no comfort back in the 
bush, for it only made him more lonely to see the baby koalas 
on their mothers’ backs and to hear the birds twittering to each 
other. The little boy felt the need of his own kind, the need of 
people’s voices and laughter. 

Bundi crouched down in the sand, shivering with loneliness 
and an unknown fear. He nestled deeper and deeper, enjoying 
the warmth of the sand, as if it were the warmth of another 


32 


body. After a long time, he stood up and looked far out into 
the distance. If only he could find some signs of human life. 

At last he saw a fence, and his heart pounded with joy. A 
fence was a sign of people. He would go to the fence and it 
would lead him to other human beings. Maybe they would know 
about the blackfellows who had feasted in the gully. 

This fence was not like the fences at Booralong. It was made 
of fine wire mesh, rather than rails. Beyond the fence there was 
tall grass. Why had the cattle not eaten this fine grass? Perhaps 
this fence was not used to hold cattle in. 

The plains on Bundfs side of the fence were dry and bare 
of grass. No animal or human being could live long on those 
plains. In places, the sand had drifted against the fence and piled 
up and up. 

A little farther on, Bundi stumbled over the body of a dead 
rabbit. Nearby he saw a great pile of rabbits lying beside the 
fence. Who had killed them and left them there? Suddenly he 
knew the answer. The rabbits had died while trying to get 
through the fence to the grass beyond. 

That was why this fence was different from those at Boon 
along! The wire netting kept the rabbits out. But they could 
burrow under it, just as they did in building their nests. Bundi 
began to dig under the fence, and again he found the answer. 
The white men had put the wire deep under the ground. Maybe 
he would die of hunger and thirst, too, thought Bundi, just as the 
rabbits had done, if he had to stay out on the plains. 

The heat had become intense. Little waves of heat and sun- 
light danced and shimmered in front of him. Bundi could not 
see beyond that dancing light to the place where the plains met 
the sky. Then, quite suddenly, he saw water ahead. It seemed 
to be in a big earthen tank like those at Booralong. 


33 


Bundi could hardly believe his eyes. But maybe it was only 
one of those strange pictures—a mirage—that the men of his 
tribe often told about—pictures which are made by the dancing, 
dazzling light on the sand, pictures which look so real but always 
go away. Bundi did not dare to hope. But he walked toward the 
water because the fence led that way. 

When the sky looked pink like the breast of a gallah parrot, 
Bundi was close to the water tank. Now he was sure it was not 
a mirage, for he saw a man sitting there, working with some wire 
frames which lay across his knees. 

As Bundi stood watching, the man looked up and motioned 
him to come nearer. "You come from the blackfellows’ camp?” 
he asked, pointing back toward the gully. 

"Blackfellow all gone,” said Bundi. 

"So you’re lost,” said the white man. "Better camp here.” 

Just then a man rode around from behind the camp and threw 
a heavy bag on the ground. It made a loud clanking sound, and 
Bundi jumped back in fear. Both men laughed. 

"Take a look inside,” said the newcomer, who was a Boundary 
Rider, one who rode the boundary line to see that fences were 
in repair. 

It was several minutes before Bundi could make himself do so. 
He knew that the men were watching him, and that they thought 
he was afraid. They would laugh at him again. Bundi did not 
want to show fear. So he grabbed the bag and loosened the string 
which closed it. Inside there were many tools, like those that were 
used at Booralong to mend the fences. 

"All time fixem fence,” said Bundi, with a smile of pride be- 
cause he recognised the tools and their use. 

Sure, we have to keep the rabbits out of the sheep runs,” 
explained one of the men. "They’ve eaten all the grass for miles 
on this side of the fence.” 


34 


4 



Bundi jumped back in fear 



“What name your station?” asked Bundi. 

“Cobba'Cobba, and a fine station it is, too. Not as big as 
Booralong, but almost.” 

“Good,” said Bundi. Cobba meant good in blackfellow lan' 
guage, and Bundi felt that it was good to be with the men from 
Cobba'Cobba. 

While the men were talking with each other, Bundi ran 
toward the water tank. 

“ Coo-ee , coo-ee /” he called. “No good; no good. 

He was looking for a way to get through the fence that went 
around the tank. He knew that the fence was to keep rabbits 
away from the water, but surely a little boy could have a drink. 

One of the men called Bundi back and poured water from a 
large bag made of kangaroo hide. The little boy drank greedily 
from the quart pot which the man had filled. It had been many, 
many days since he had tasted pure, sweet water. 

Bundi watched the men take spoonfuls of white powder from 
a can, put it on plates, and pour a little hot water over it. Soon 
the white stuff swelled until it filled the plate. Bundi scooped up 
the soft, fluffy food with his fingers. It tasted like the potatoes 
Bundi had eaten at Booralong, but he had never seen a dry white 
powder swell into a dish of potatoes. This must be whitefellow 
magic, thought Bundi. 

As the campers ate, flocks of yellow'crested white cockatoos 
swooped down over the tank and stopped at the water's edge to 
drink. Gallah parrots, gray^backed and pink'breasted, came too. 
The rabbits, the foxes, and kangaroos were waiting for the cover 
of darkness. 

The shadows of the stunted mulga trees grew longer, and 
like a moving carpet came the hordes of rabbits, seeking water. 
The fence barred their way. Round and round they went until 


36 


at last one rabbit found the small, V-shaped opening. He slipped 
through and began lapping the water thirstily. Soon the others 
followed him. After they had drunk, they began searching for 
a way out. The small openings which they found did not lead 
them back to the open plains, but into fenced yards. Here they 
were trapped, while the hundreds of other rabbits poured into 
the yard behind them. 

Struggling and squealing, they fought to get free. Fences 
were holding them in just as the fence at Booralong had held in the 
frightened cattle. Bundfs heart went out to them. He knew this 
feeling of being trapped. 

By the dim light of the stars, he saw two foxes leap over the 
fence and lap up water, side by side with the rabbits. The foxes 
never thought of the rabbits as food; they wanted only water. 
Suddenly a kangaroo hopped into view, and immediately there 
was a shot. Bundi lay down and buried his face in the earth, 
frightened as an animal. 

When he looked up again the men were dragging the big 
body of the kangaroo toward the camp. He heard one of them 
say, "This one won’t kick our fences down any more.” 

When the yards were full of rabbits, the men lifted the fence 
around the water so that the animals held there could escape. 
The traps were already filled with as many rabbits as the men 
could skin that night. 

The next morning Bundi saw hundreds of little wire frames 
stuck in the ground. Each frame was covered with a furry rabbit 
skin stretched out to dry. 




Chapter VII 


FRIENDS AT COBBA'COBBA 

When Bundi was halfway between dreaming and waking, the 
troubled thoughts which he had lost in sleep came again. 
“Bunyipr he called in fright. He thought the bunyip , or evil 
spirit feared by all the people of his tribe, was near. The Medh 
cine Man had often frightened the little boys by telling them 
stories of the bunyip who would get them if they were bad. 

With the morning there came another fear that had haunted 
Bundi for many days—the fear of never again seeing his own 
people, the fear of dying of thirst out on the plains. His new 
friends had told him that he must go to Cobba'Cobba until after 
the rains came. If he did this, however, he would be just as far 
away from his own people as ever. But what could he do? He 
would die like the rabbits if he stayed on the plains. 


38 





The medicine man had often frightened the little boys 



It was a most unhappy little boy who rode behind the 
Boundary Rider to Cobba^Cobba. The homestead, the sheds, and 
the yards all brought back memories of Booralong. But perhaps 
it would be different at Cobba'Cobba. Perhaps Bundi could be a 
tracker, or a horse^tailer, or a stockman! 

When they reached Cobba'Cobba, the men took him to one 
of the blackfellows' humpies or cabins, where Coola, a large kindly 
black lubra, made him welcome. Coola was the wife of Binong, one 
of the blackfellows who worked at the station. She made Bundi 
think of his own mother, and a sudden tight feeling came into 
his throat. He wanted to feel her strong arms about him; he 
wanted to be held close. He had been lonely for so many, many 
days. Determined to be brave, Bundi forced back the sobs which 
seemed to tear his chest to get out. 

Soon he was eating supper and drinking tea with the station 
blackfellows. Then he heard laughter. It was high and shrill, 
not the soft low laughter of blackfellow children at play. There 
was the pat^a^pat of bare feet on a path, and in another moment 
two young boys rushed headlong into camp. 

“I beat,” said the larger boy, panting for breath. 

“I won the last race anyway,” said the other, still gasping. 

Bundi smiled at the boys. He knew about races, although it 
was a long time since he had played with children. How these 
two white boys could run! Bundi's eyes shone with excitement. 
He longed to run and play with them. 

Peter, the smaller boy, saw Bundi first. 

“Hello, Bundi,” he said. “Jim told us that he brought you 
in from the Rabbiters camp. We came here to see you.” 

“And we brought you some clothes,” said Bob, the larger 
boy, holding out a pair of blue trousers and a gray shirt. 

“Thank you big mob,” said Bundi, too shy to go up to the 
boys as he really wanted to do. 


40 


Peter came closer. "We re Bob and Peter and we live up at 
Government House, he explained. "Coola will bring you up 
there some time. Binong will bring you to the horse paddock 
and we'll show you our ponies." 

"We'll see you tomorrow, Bundi," said Bob. 

Then they were off, racing back to the yards like two wild 
things. Bundi wanted to run with these boys. They could run 
almost as fast as blackfellow boys. Bundi felt as if he were back 
at his own camp near his own friends. Maybe Bob and Peter 
would be his friends. 

Of course Bundi didn't know that Bob and Peter were just 
as interested in him as he was in them. It was not often that 
visitors came to Cobba^Cobba, especially little boys. Peter and 
Bob rode their ponies to school each day, but there they saw 
only four other children from the next sheep station, and the 
governess. 

"My, he must be brave," said Bob, as the boys were returning 
to Government House. "Imagine coming all the way from Boora^ 
long alone. I'll bet he can tell us all about blackfellows hunting 
kangaroos and killing snakes and finding water holes." 

It was hard for Bundi to rouse himself the next morning. All 
night long he had dreamed that he was riding off across the 
plains on a brown and white spotted pony, riding with his bare 
legs hugging the warm body of the horse. He had been riding 
fast, with the wind blowing strong on his face. Bundi was afraid 
that the happy feeling would go when he opened his eyes. For 
so many, many mornings he had wakened with the fear of thirst 
or hunger. 

Coola was calling him in her soft voice, "Bundi, come get 
tucker ." 

The boy opened his eyes and saw Coola's smiling face. She 
held out the shirt and trousers. It was good to see her there. 


41 


Besides, his breakfast was ready. Well, perhaps it was good to be 
at Cobba-Cobba! Then Bundi remembered Bob and Peter and 
their ponies. He was sure that they were real even if his dream 
wasn't. Perhaps he would ride the ponies some day! 

While Bundi was eating, he looked off across the plains. How 
good it was to be with people and not alone out on the wide 
plains. How good it was to have food, to smell the smoke of a 
campfire. But he would go bush after the rains came. Yes, he 
would go and find his father's people. These blackfellows jabber- 
ing around the fire were not of his own tribe. They even talked 
whitefellow talk. Then Bundi smiled to himself. Why, he talked 
whitefellow talk too! Perhaps his own people would think him 
strange. But he would talk blackfellow talk when he went bush. 
He would forget about whitefellow ways. 

Bundi was glad when Coola said that he could go up to 
Government House with her. He might see the boys there. The 
path to Government House was worn smooth and bare of grass. 
In the early morning it felt cool to his bare feet. It seemed a very 
special path to Bundi, for it led to the house where his new 
friends lived. 



Chapter VIII 

BUNDI LEARNS TO RIDE 


Peter and Bob were sitting on a bench at the back of the 
house, busily whittling a piece of wood. As the boys looked up 
and saw him, something made Bundi turn and run. He hid behind 
the shed. 

The little blackfellow had moved so swiftly that Peter and 
Bob were not sure they had actually seen him. 

Coola laughed. “Him not afraid; him just play shy game ,’ 1 
she said. 

Bob called, “We're coming to find you, Bundi." 

Bundi smiled, but he didn't move toward them. The queer 
feeling had gone, but he waited for the boys to come. In a 
minute, the three boys were all laughing together. 

“My word, you look like a fine fellow," said Bob, admiring 
Bundi in his new clothes. 


43 


Bundi felt as proud as if he had been dressed for a feast. 

“Me come see you,” he said. 

“Fine. Father said we could show you the ponies and then 
you can learn to help Binong with the horses,” explained Peter. 

This was more than Bundi had hoped for. He was to have a 
mans work at Cobba-Cobba, not the degrading work of the 
lubras. As Bundi followed the boys across the yard, he noticed 
the green grass, the blooming flowers and rich ferns. He won- 
dered who carried water to all the plants. A shiver of delight 
ran through him as he realized that he would not have to water 
them. 

As Bob fastened the gate he turned and said to Peter, “Re- 
member it’s your turn to water Mother’s flowers today.” 

Bundi was shocked. Did Bob and Peter have to do lubra’s 
work? But when Bob said, “Let’s race to the paddock,” every 
other thought was driven from Bundi’s mind. 

Bundi’s legs were like springs suddenly loosened. He knew 
that he could beat Peter and Bob. His body was slim and his 
legs were long. He had learned to run when he was a tiny child, 
to run fast enough to save his life, if need be. Past the sheds and 
on across an open paddock ran the excited little blackfellow. 

“Stop, Bundi!” called Bob. “You’ve won!” 

Bundi trotted back, his black face shining. 

“I’ll bet you could catch a kangaroo,” praised Peter. 

“Me bin catchem one, some day,” answered Bundi. 

“Will you really?” asked Peter. “I want one more than any¬ 
thing else in the world. For a long time, Father and the men 
have been trying to get me a kangaroo joey for a pet. But they 
have never been able to catch one.” 

“Me catchem kangaroo joey" promised Bundi. He remem¬ 
bered how the men of his tribe carried bushes and branches of 


44 


trees to hide behind as they crept close to feeding kangaroos. How 
fine it would be to catch a little kangaroo for the boys. 

“The sheep are out on the runs,” explained Bob, as they walked 
past the long, low shearing shed, “but soon they'll be brought in 
to have their wool shorn. Then it will be put in bags and kept 
in this shed until it can be sent away.” 

“Shearing time is the most fun of all,” added Peter. “Father 
lets us stay home from school to help. It will soon be time for it 
again. Maybe you can help, too, Bundi.” 

As they climbed over the paddock fence, Bob began calling, 
“Here, Cub, Cub,” and Peter called, “Come, Star. Here, Star.” 

From among the feeding horses, two small ponies raised their 
heads, shook out their manes, and came galloping toward the 
boys. One of the ponies whinnied in answer to his master. Bundi 
hoped that it was the one named Star. The stars had long been 
Bundi's friends, and he wanted this pony to be a friend too. When 
the pony came near, Bundi saw that it was brown and white, 
just like the one in his dream. 

“See, Bundi, mine has a white star on his face,” said Peter, as 
he fondly stroked the pony's nose. 

Bundi didn't even hear him. He was thinking about the 
pony of his dream and how it had moved so gently and yet so 
swiftly, as if the wind were blowing it along. 

The ponies stood beside their young masters, nulling their 
noses against the boys' arms. The boys knew what their pets 
were coaxing for, and laughingly they pulled lumps of sugar from 
their pockets. 

Bundi wished the brown and white pony would rub against 
his shoulder. “Him good pony,” said Bundi, looking at Star. 

“Here, you can give him a lump of sugar,” said Peter, handing 
Bundi a big piece. 


45 


Seeing the sugar, Star put his nose against Bundi’s hand. 
Bundi let him coax for a moment, enjoying the touch of that soft 
nose. Then he opened his fist and Star took the sugar daintily 
with his lips. 

“Ever ride a horse?” asked Bob. 

Bundi wanted to say, “Yes,” and tell about his dream ride, 
but he said only, “Come to Cobba-Cobba on horse.” 

“That wasn’t riding,” said Peter. “That was just hanging on 
behind one of the men. Better try it all by yourself.” 

Bundi’s eyes sparkled with joy. Was he really going to ride 
so soon? How happy he was that he had come to Cobba-Cobba. 

“Yes,” agreed Bob. “Let’s teach Bundi to ride this morning. 
It’s Saturday and we don’t go to school. Then when Father 
comes in from the runs we’ll show him what Bundi can do.” 

At Booralong, Bundi had often watched the stockmen mount 
their horses. It seemed quite natural for him to grab the pony’s 
mane with his left hand, rest his right hand on the pony’s shouh 
der and throw his right leg over its back. Bob and Peter were 
surprised that he did it so well. 

“Sure you haven’t done that before?” asked Bob. 

Bundi only smiled and nudged the pony ever so little with 
his bare heels. For reins, he held a bit of Star’s long mane. He 
gripped the silky body with his legs, urging the pony to go faster 
and faster. He wanted to feel the wind in his face as he had felt 
it in his dream. The pony was only trotting, so Bundi patted its 
neck. That seemed to be a signal to Star, and he began to gallop. 
Bundi slipped a bit, but he managed to hang on. 

“Whoa, Star! Steady, boy!” called Peter. 

At the command of his master, Star slowed to a walk at once. 
Bundi was sorry. 

“Were you frightened?” asked Bob when Bundi rode back to 
the boys. 


46 



Bundi slipped a bit, but he managed to hang on 


“Star goodfellow," was the only answer. 

As he slipped down from the pony, Bundi thanked Peter. 
“You goodfellow. You let Bundi ride." 

Bundi soon learned to take care of the ponies, to brush their 
shiny coats and comb their manes and tails. He learned to catch 
the ponies when they were loose in the paddock and to put on 
saddles and bridles. 

One afternoon after Bundi had rubbed down the ponies, he 
swung himself onto Star's back to have a little ride. He tried to 
sit as straight as Peter and to let his body follow the movements 
of the pony, as if he and the animal were one. Then he patted 
Star's neck and repeated the words he had often heard Peter 
use. “Come on, Star. Come, boy. Fast!" 

Star was ready for a wild gallop. Bundi leaned low on the 
pony's neck and gripped with his legs. Around and around the 
paddock they went, as if it were a race course. Bundi thought 
of nothing but the joy of that flying movement. He talked to 
Star in his own language, speaking soft words that were strange 
to the pony. Bundi pretended that he was chasing a big red 
kangaroo, and he raised his right arm as if ready to thrust a 
spear. Just then he heard a shout. 

“Bravo! Good! Hurrah for Bundi!" 

As if this were a signal for him to stop, the pony slowed to 
a trot. Bundi gasped in surprise when he saw that the boss and 
two other men had been watching him. In the joy of the gallop- 
ing movement, he had forgotten that anyone else in the world 
existed. 

He slid down from Star's back, not knowing whether they 
were pleased with him or not. He had heard only a shout; the 
words had meant nothing. The boss had never seen Bundi ride 
before. Perhaps he was angry because the pony was going so 
fast. 


48 


“Good riding," said the boss, when Bundi got off the pony. 

You'll be a fine musterer some day. Very soon I will give you 
a horse to ride." 

Bundi smiled his happiness. He couldn't say a word. 

That night, at dusk, Bundi walked swiftly along the path 
to Government House. When he reached the shadow of a shed 
he paused and called softly, “Coo . . . ee! Coo . . . eel Coo . .. eeT 

Bob and Peter heard the signal and in a few minutes they 
ran around the side of the house and found Bundi waiting for 
them in the shadow. 

Before they could speak, Bundi said, “You big mob good- 
fellow. Boss big mob goodfellow. He give Bundi horse to ride 
some day. Bundi catch joey kangaroo for you some day." 

“We know you'd do anything you could for us," said Bob. 
“You goodfellow, too, Bundi." 

Peter added, “I'd rather have a little kangaroo than any other 
kind of a pet except Star. We'll tell Father that you said he was 
a big mob goodfellow." 

Bundi was content, now that he had told the boys his thoughts. 
He turned and went silently back along the shadowy path under 
the Mallee trees. That night as he lay on the ground and looked 
up at the stars, he pretended that they were kangaroos and the 
moon was a little blackfellow tracking down a pet for Peter and 


Bob. 



Chapter IX 

BUNDI RUNS AWAY 


The next morning, when Bundi rolled over and cupped his 
chin in his hands to have a look about, things looked different. 
Coola and Binong were not around. They had gone to their work 
before Bundi wakened. That had never happened before. No 
one squatted near the fire either. Something terrible must have 
happened at Cobba'Cobba. The old unhappy feeling of loneliness 
swept over Bundi. 

All of a sudden Bundi remembered. This was the morning 
that the first mob of sheep would be brought in from the runs. 
Today they would be shorn and then sent naked back to the 
paddocks. Bundi jumped up and dressed quickly. There was not 
a minute to lose. Men were hurrying in every direction, like a 
swarm of bees. 


50 



This was the morning that the first mob of sheep 
would be brought in 


Bundi ran to the paddock first of all, but even the ponies were 
not there. Today everything was different at Cobba-Cobba. Then 
Bundi heard a long-drawn-out “Coo . . . ee” and another and 
another. It was Peter’s special call. Bundi answered with three 
long-drawn-out “Coo . . . ees” to tell Peter that he was coming. 

Peter and Bob had ridden out to one of the paddocks to find 
out when the sheep would be in. One of the musterers told them 
that the first mob of sheep was expected about noon. Peter had 
hurried back to get Bundi so that he might share in the excitement. 

A few hours later the three boys were waiting at the paddock 
gate when the first mob of sheep came in sight. The sheep walked 
slowly, cropping the grass along the way, and bleating when the 
sheep dogs tried to hurry them. 

Bundi could not take his eyes from the dogs. They were not 
like the dingoes , or wild dogs, which the blackfellows sometimes 
trained. The dingoes always chased to kill; these sheep dogs were 
guiding the flock, not chasing it. Three sheep dogs held the mob 
while the musterers on horseback rounded up stray sheep. When 
two sheep suddenly tried to break from the mob, one of the dogs 
shot forward, blocked their path, and then stood still, seeming 
to hold them by some magic power. For a moment the sheep 
didn’t move. Then slowly they turned and went back to the mob. 
They knew who was their master. 

“Good dog, Bluey!” shouted Peter. 

Every little while other sheep broke from the mob, but the 
dogs nipped them on their heels and sent them back where they 
belonged. 

“Aren’t they fine sheep and aren’t the dogs wonderful?’’ 
asked Peter, with pride in his voice, pride in Cobba-Cobba, its 
men and its dogs. 

Bundi did not answer, for he was suddenly filled with another 


52 


kind of excitement. He wanted to see the dogs rush the sheep. 
He wanted to see a wild chase. He wanted to see one of his own 
blackfellows with a spear ready to thrust. All that was wild in 
his nature rose up, and his eyes danced with the excitement of 
the chase he saw in his mind. 

Peter looked at him strangely. “Don't you think it's good work, 
Bundi?” 

“No good,'' he answered, almost crossly. 

“But it is good," explained Peter. “Those men and dogs are 
doing wonderful work. I want to be a musterer some day and 
you could be, too, like the blackfellows here." 

“Me kill kangaroo," said Bundi, and his voice sounded as if 
he meant to do it that very moment. 

Peter turned to him in surprise. “Well, sometimes kangaroos 
are pests on sheep stations and the men kill them to save the 
grass for the sheep. But I like kangaroos and I want one for a pet. 
Don't you remember, Bundi, that you promised to get me one?" 

There was a strange light in Bundi's eyes that Peter had never 
seen before. As Peter watched him he felt that Bundi was miles 
away. He had suddenly become a very different little boy from 
the one Peter and Bob had known so well. 

The boys watched until all the sheep had been driven through 
the gate into the smaller paddock to wait their turn for shearing. 
Then they rode back to the station buildings. The place looked 
like a busy village, with bicycles standing against the fences, strange 
cars loaded with blanket rolls and parcels, strange horses tied to 
hitching posts. 

“More shearers have come," shouted Peter. 

“Father said I could help them," said Bob. “I'm to be tanboy." 

“Perhaps we can be, too," said Peter to Bundi. “Let's find 
Father and ask." 


53 



"Me sit down in humpy ," said Bundi in a small, strange voice. 

"Have you a stomach ache?" asked Peter. "You must be sick 
if you want to go to your humpy when all this fun is going on." 

Bundi turned away without answering. Peter and Bob were 
too absorbed in the shearing to notice where he went. 

All day long Bundi wandered around, filled with a sense of 
strangeness and aloneness. There were strangers everywhere, and 
his old friends could not be found. Bundi went to one bunkhouse 
after another, but all were empty. Everyone was busy with the 
shearing. Bundi felt frightened. There were too many strangers 
about. He felt more alone than he had on the plains, where there 
was no other human being. Cobba^Cobba seemed like Booralong, 
a place where he could never feel at home, and cosy and content. 


54 



Then, quite suddenly, he decided what he must do. He must 
run away; he must go bush and find his people. The time had 
come. His legs seemed glad to run, as if they had been cramped 
for a long time. Which way he was going he did not know. He 
was trying only to get away from Cobba^Cobba and the loneliness. 
A song ran through his head, the song that the men always sang 
before the hunt. Bundi was off on a hunt now. He ran across 
the paddocks, beyond the fences, on and on, under the stars. 

He stripped off his clothes, as he had done once before. Now 
he was like his own people; now he could feel the cool air against 
his body. He picked up a stick and pretended that it was a 
boomerang. Somehow this made him feel less lonely. When 
utter weariness forced him to stop, he lay down on the ground, 
and sleep came quickly. 





Chapter X 


BUNDI FINDS A BABY KANGAROO 


In the morning Bundi was wakened by a soft thud, thud. He 
lay perfectly still and listened, as the sound kept coming nearer. 
He knew, without even looking around, that it was a kangaroo. 
He lay quite still, so as not to frighten the little animal away, 
and he planned exactly what he was going to do. He reached 
for a nearby stick and clutched his stick tightly, every nerve in his 
body tingling with excitement and happiness. He was a black' 
fellow boy on the hunt for food. He was going to kill a kangaroo! 
This was the kind of wild excitement he had felt when he watched 
the sheep and the dogs. 


56 


The soft thud was coming very close. Bundi wondered if he 
could use his stick as a boomerang. He had often seen his father 
send the curved, sharp-edged boomerang twirling through the air 
to break a kangaroo's leg. Then he had crept up and hit the 
animal with a waddy , or club. 

When Bundi sat up and saw the kangaroo, he was startled, 
too startled to move. It was such a little kangaroo. Bundi had 
never before been so close to such a tiny one. His fingers gradually 
loosened their hold on the stick. He seemed to hear Peter say, 
“I want him for a pet, Bundi." 

Slowly the little blackfellow dropped his stick. He did not 
want to kill this baby animal; he wanted to take it to Peter. He 
wanted to see Peter's eyes shine when he saw his new pet. 

Bundi's one desire now was to catch the little animal without 
hurting it the tiniest bit. But the little kangaroo began hopping 
away. He stood on his hind legs and pushed with his tail and 
went hop, hop, hop. Then he stood on his hind legs and propped 
himself with his tail, as if he were resting on a three-legged stool. 
But why did he stop to rest when a stranger was near? Wasn’t 
he a wild animal, and weren't all wild animals afraid of human 
beings? 

Then Bundi guessed that the baby kangaroo had never seen 
a human being before and so did not know that they were crea¬ 
tures to fear. This joey was still small enough to be riding in his 
mother's pouch. But where was the mother? There was no other 
living creature to be seen. 

As Bundi watched him, the little animal began to hop more 
quickly. Then he wobbled and fell over, hitting his nose on the 
ground. Bundi laughed merrily, wishing that Peter and Bob 
could see the comical little animal. 

Bundi decided to walk about a bit and let the kangaroo get 


57 



used to him. Soon he found the mother, lying by a low saltbush. 
Her thin body, with the bones sticking through the flesh, showed 
that she had died of thirst, just like the rabbits Bundi had seen. 
The baby had lived in her pouch and sucked milk from her body, 
but now he must take care of himself. 

As the joey toppled over again, Bundfs heart went out to this 
little lone creature. He knew how it felt to be alone, to be hungry 
and thirsty. He wanted to take the little creature in his arms, 
to have it nestle close to his body and take comfort in the 
warmth of another living being. 

Bundi moved forward cautiously and quietly. The kangaroo 
heard him and tried to lift its head, but sank back on the warm 
sandy earth. Bundi loved the helpless little animal; he wanted to 
mother it. At that moment his own loneliness left him completely. 
He had something to love now, something that needed him. 


58 



Soon he found the mother, lying by a low saltbush 


He stretched out his hand and touched the quivering black 
nose. The skin felt soft, like the skin of a little blackfellow baby. 
The kangaroo whined softly, and a shiver passed along its body 
like the rings of water on a pool after a stone is thrown into it. 

When Bundi took the tiny animal in his arms and held him 
close, a strange feeling of contentment passed over him. It was 
better than drinking water when he was thirsty, or filling his 
stomach when he was hungry. It made him glad to be alone with 
the baby kangaroo and to lay his cheek against its warm body. 
It was his own; it was his to love and care for. Bundi was content. 

With the little animal in his arms, Bundi trudged back to 
Cobba'Cobba. Often he stroked the silky hair, which was the 
color of sheep’s wool with some of the red dust in it. When 
Bundi stopped to rest, he laid the kangaroo on the warm earth. 
The little fellow was too weak to get up. He seemed content to 
be with Bundi, and Bundi was always eager to pick him up again 
and hurry on to Cobba'Cobba. 

Bundi remembered how fast he had run away from Cobba- 
Cobba the night before. Now, for the first time in many weeks, 
he was really happy. The little kangaroo had pushed all lonelh 
ness out of his heart. His heart felt glad because he could feel 
another little heart beating against his body. 

When Bundi finally reached the wool shed of Cobba-Cobba 
he stopped and stared. Camels squatted on all fours while men 
were tying bales of wool on their backs. The animals were held 
together by ropes fastened from the nose of one to the tail of 
the one in front. But Bundi could not stay to watch. He had a 
gift for Peter. Where were Peter and Bob? Where were any of 
the people Bundi knew? 

Strange men looked at Bundi and then hurried on. A big 
lorry, or wagon, piled high with brown sacks of wool, stood near. 


60 


Many pairs of bullocks were being yoked to it. But Bundi 
wasn t frightened by the strangeness now. He was thinking about 
helping the joey to get well and strong. He hugged the little 
kangaroo close. 

Then Bundi remembered that Bob was to be tar-boy and would 
be in the shearing shed. Perhaps Peter would be there too. This 
shed was the busiest place at Cobba-Cobba. Bundi hurried past 
the dozens of little box-like stalls, glancing into each one in the 
hope of finding Peter and Bob. Now and then he bumped into 
men carrying armfuls of wool. The sheep were bleating as the 
shearers grabbed them, set them down on their haunches, and held 
their heads between their knees. There was a steady hum of 
wheels turning and clippers peeling wool from the animals. 

One of the shearers called, “Tar-boy!” Peter or Bob would 
soon come in answer to this call. So Bundi waited there, with the 
little kangaroo asleep in his arms. In a couple of minutes, Peter 
came hurrying along with his pail of tar. When he saw Bundi 
and the kangaroo, he almost dropped the pail. The shearer was 
impatient. “Tar, tar,” he called again. 

Peter held out the pail, and the man grabbed the stick and 
daubed some hot tar on the place where the sheep was cut. 

Then Peter set the pail down, and Bundi held out the little 
pet to his friend. Peter gasped. “Oh, Bundi! Is he really mine?” 

Bundi could not speak, but the light in his eyes seemed to 
overflow into his face and make it shine. It seemed to say, “Here 
is the pet I promised to get for you.” 

When Bundi saw the answering shine in Peter’s eyes, he knew 
that he belonged with Peter too. Together they would take care 
of the little animal and make him strong and well. 

All in one breath Peter asked, “Where did you get him? 
Where is the mother? Is he asleep?” 


61 



Bundi told the story and finished by saying, “Him sick; him 
hungry. Bundi no want kill any more. Bundi bring pet to you. 
Bundi help him get well .’ 1 

Peter’s mother gave the boys a dish of warm milk for their 
pet. Still holding the little kangaroo, Peter dipped his hand in 
the milk and then put a finger in the animal’s mouth. The hungry 
joey sucked eagerly and tried to open his eyes. Peter had often 
taught little lambs to drink that way. 

Then Bundi dipped his hand into the milk. Peter understood 
that Bundi loved this baby animal. So he let Bundi feed him for 
awhile. 

Bundi felt a wonderful happiness as the soft tongue sucked the 
milk from his finger and the little tail moved ever so slightly as 
strength came back to the baby kangaroo. This little animal was 
his. He had saved its life. But he had given it to Peter! Then 
Bundi must stay with Peter, too. 


62 


The world had become small and snug and close. There were 
no far places where he would be forever searching for his people. 
There was only Cobba-Cobba and Peter and the baby kangaroo. 

With every glance of his shining blue eyes, Peter said, “Thank 
you, Bundi, for my dear little baby kangaroo.” 

And with every glance of his bright black eyes, Bundi was 
saying, “You goodfellow, Peter; you good whitefellow.” 

That night as he looked up at the stars, Bundi thought, “Black- 
fellow stars are whitefellow stars too. All same! The plains be¬ 
long to blackfellows and whitefellows too. Bundi have big mob 
blackfellow people and big mob whitefellow people. Peter and 
Bob are Bundfs whitefellow people and Cobba-Cobba is good- 
fellow home.” 

























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